


What is and What Shall Always Be

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are watching TV late after a hunt one night on the motel couch. In the middle of the night one of them wakes up to realize that they've fallen asleep curled up together. Also, boners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is and What Shall Always Be

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_masquerade

It’s the low hum of the television that wakes him, that and the crackle as static fills the room. The movie they’d been watching long finished. Sam blinks against the darkness, disorientated, and tries to stretch out his cramped limbs, the small, motel couch not really built for his height. It's definitely not built for two. 

Dean’s arm is warm and heavy across Sam’s midriff, his leg a possessive weight across his thigh. The hot puffs of air breathed into the back of his neck a regular, sleep-filled rhythm. Sam thinks about moving, but doesn’t want to wake his brother. It’s been weeks since Dean has slept for more than three hours at a time, deep restful sleep, the kind not plagued by the nightmares Dean either denies or laughs off. 

Sam doubts Dean would be laughing if he were to wake up, and find himself curled up against his brother. 

Sam moves, just a fraction and feels Dean’s protest; it's grunted into the back of his neck, Dean’s arm tightening around his waist, pulling Sam back against the hard slab of Dean’s stomach. 

And that’s not the only thing that’s hard. 

Sam really should move, but every time he tries; Dean pulls him back in, tighter until Sam can scarcely breathe without Dean protesting. 

Sam’s hard too, needs to piss, at least that’s what he tells himself. 

Dean bends his leg, and groans aloud in his sleep when his cock makes contact with Sam’s ass, and Sam forgets to breathe, just for a second, and then Dean shifts his weight, pushes up against Sam’s ass and groans louder. 

Sam waits. Holds still, as Dean’s hips roll away only to grind forward again, finds a rhythm and keeps to it, as he noses his way through Sam’s hair, mouth open, and breath hot against the shell of Sam’s ear. 

Dean’s breathing speeds up, as his ruts up against Sam’s ass, and for a second, just a second, despite his best efforts to remain still, Sam pushes back, adds to the friction. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Dean slurs in his sleep. His hand sliding down to cup Sam’s denim-bound cock, squeezing, just a touch, enough to make Sam want more. Sam tries again, pushes back a fraction, gasps when Dean cups him harder, forms a makeshift fist for Sam to slide into, as Dean shunts them both forward. 

Sam huffs out a frustrated moan. It’s awkward and he can’t get the angle right, needs more, more friction, more movement. He reaches down, and unzips his jeans, shocked when Dean slides his hand into the space provided, pushes cotton aside to expose bare skin, fingers curling around Sam’s cock to fist him hard. 

“Jesus,” Sam hisses, quietly so as not to wake his brother. There’s no reason Sam can think of to explain why Dean’s got his hand in Sam’s pants, fist tight with his brother’s cock. His brain is screaming at him to move away, when Dean tightens the grip he has on Sam and strokes upward, all the way to the head, fingernail dragging against the slit. 

Sam rocks back against Dean, feels the harsh brush of three-day stubble as Dean nuzzles in against his neck, breaths hot and heavy against Sam’s skin, as Sam pushes, slow and steady, into the warm cradle of Dean’s practised fingers.

Sam’s more scared than he’s ever been in his life. Terrified that Dean will wake up and tear him a new one, or worse, stop. 

He keeps to Dean’s rhythm, rocks back, when Dean eases away, forward, tilting his hips slightly to get a better angle as he pushes up into his brother’s tight grip, bites the inside of his cheek to prevent the moan that threatens. 

Dean’s not so restrained, moans loudly, when Sam finally gets the angle right and pushes back harder than before, grinds down into his brother’s lap. Dean rewards Sam with a sharp twist of his wrist on every upstroke, tightening his fist as he works it down, all the way to the base of Sam’s cock.

It’s so quiet, Sam’s sure he can hear his own heartbeat, feels it thump erratically in his chest, and just when he thinks, he can’t take it any longer, needs faster, harder, more; Dean picks up the pace, attuned to his brother’s needs even in sleep. 

Sam hisses out a breath, as Dean fists him, shorter, faster strokes, thumb ghosting over the head of Sam’s cock on every upstroke, Sam’s a hair’s breadth from coming, spilling his load over his brother’s hand, as Dean pushes up, hard against Sam’s ass and groans, long and loud. The sound of Dean’s pleasure, the heat of it breathed out against Sam’s cheek is more than Sam can take, he doesn’t think he could get any harder, but does, with every pleasure-filled moan that slips past Dean’s lips. 

He wants to praise, encourage, tell Dean how good it feels, but daren’t make a sound as the slow heat builds and want catches fire. His cock jerks in Dean’s hand, and again causing Dean to pump him faster until all Sam can feel is heat and movement and the desperate need to come. He almost whimpers, probably does as his cock jerks again, Dean squeezing tight as Sam comes, pulses thick ropey strands of come over his brother’s hand. 

Sam holds his breath, and waits. He waits as Dean’s breathing returns to normal, finds a slower, steadier rhythm, until Dean moves his hand, pulls it free of Sam’s pants, and only then does Sam breathe. He sucks in a breath as reality slams in, as the come in his pants cools to leave him sticky and wet. He should move, but doesn’t know how to disentangle himself from Dean without waking him. 

He takes another breath, worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Dammit Sam, either piss or get off the pot,” Dean mumbles, shifting back a touch and moving his leg from Sam’s thigh.

Sam blinks, but doesn’t say a word as he climbs off the couch and makes his way to the bathroom. He switches on the light, avoids looking at himself in the mirror as he shrugs free of his jeans and shorts, and rinses the flannel under the hot faucet before cleaning himself off. He can hear Dean moving about in the next room, and waits until it’s quiet again before switching off the light and opening the bathroom door. 

Dean’s in bed, on his side, back to Sam, the sheet pulled up to his waist and for a moment Sam hesitates, thinks about apologizing when Dean pulls the sheet back on the bed in invitation. 

Sam takes a step forward, and another until he’s standing beside the bed, doesn’t over think it, just climbs in. His back to Dean, one hand beneath the pillow as he takes a deep breath, and settles. 

Dean’s silent, still for a moment, and then he shifts, turns over, throws one arm over Sam’s midriff, warm and heavy as he pulls Sam in, and huffs out a breath. 

“Night Sam.”


End file.
